


A World Tinged with Orange

by aeternamente



Category: Lizzie Bennet Diaries
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/F, Siblings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-13
Updated: 2013-04-13
Packaged: 2017-12-08 10:11:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/760180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aeternamente/pseuds/aeternamente
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gigi couldn’t revel too long in the memory of the kisses they’d shared last night without running up against the all-too-reasonable fear that it would all be short lived, that Lydia would wake up and smile and say it was great being make-out buddies and everything, but dating girls wasn’t really her thing, and they’d probably be better off as friends.</p>
<p>Sequel to <a href="748102">Daring Truth</a>. This will probably end up being 2 or 3 chapters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A World Tinged with Orange

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to [Daring Truth](748102). There are some things in this fic that might not make sense if you don't read that one first.
> 
> This was originally meant to be a one-shot, but then I got to a certain point and realized it was going to spill over into at least one, maybe two extra chapters.

Gigi woke up to a world tinged with orange. She blinked and shifted and found that her left side was pinned down by a warm body, and that the orange in her field of vision came from the morning light filtering through the vivid hair belonging to that warm body.

With her free right hand, Gigi gently brushed Lydia Bennet’s hair from her face, then shifted ever so slightly backward so she could watch Lydia as she slept. She recalled the events of the previous night—the late night game of Truth or Dare that resulted in William the kitty-cat, and in small, timid steps closer and closer to the truth that had been staring Gigi in the face lately: that she was harboring a growing infatuation with Lydia Bennet that refused to be ignored (much like Lydia herself).

But she couldn’t revel too long in the memory of the kisses they’d shared last night without running up against the all-too-reasonable fear that it would all be short lived, that Lydia would wake up and smile and say it was great being make-out buddies and everything, but dating girls wasn’t really her thing, and they’d probably be better off as friends.

The thought sent Gigi’s heart plummeting to her stomach, and even though her left arm was numb from being trapped underneath Lydia’s body, she dared not try to extricate it, for fear that Lydia would wake up and promptly break her heart.

_Wow, Gig, when did you get so far gone?_

To be honest, she hadn’t thought of anything beyond wanting to befriend her at first. She remembered seeing Lydia in Lizzie’s videos, and feeling an outpouring of little-sisterly solidarity. Lizzie was captivating, funny, and yes, attractive, and had almost immediately convinced Gigi to give up her original inclination to dislike her for William’s sake, but Gigi was never charmed into believing that Lizzie was right about everything, least of all her sparkling, energetic little sister who so desperately wanted to be appreciated and understood, but could never quite get there.

But on that first night, as she tore through the videos at a breakneck pace, desperate to understand this Lizzie Bennet character and how she had managed to steal her brother’s heart away from him so completely, Gigi could spare only small pangs of sympathy, small sparks of shared humor, and the briefest, most fleeting flashes of curiosity at the scattered mentions of Lydia’s own video blog, which were soon forgotten.

She remembered again after tragedy struck—after Lizzie returned home to the wreck of a little sister that George Wickham had left behind. Gigi watched Lydia’s video blog then. She smiled and laughed at Lydia’s exuberance and carefree spirit, commiserated over her loneliness, and could never fully escape from the feeling of dread for what she knew would eventually happen.

Watching her with George was perhaps one of the most frustrating experiences of Gigi’s life. She wanted to jump through the screen, throttle him with her bare hands, kick him hard in the nuts, and pull Lydia away and hold her until it was all okay again. Which would be a long time, Gigi knew, because she herself wasn’t completely okay, but she wasn’t opposed to holding her forever if it came down to it.

Gigi had wanted Lydia to smile again. Really smile. In the summer, she would often stop off at Netherfield on her trips between Sanditon and San Francisco (it wasn’t strictly on the way, but whatever) just to coax Lydia out of the house—to window shop at the mall, or get froyo or anything, really. And she’d make goofy jokes, or tell some embarrassing childhood story about William, or relate an anecdote about the quirky, entertaining people of Sanditon. At first she just got reluctant, tentative smiles, but she eventually figured out how to elicit giggles and grins so wide they almost split her face in half, smiles that came from deep within her, that only belonged to Gigi (as far as she knew, Lydia didn’t smile like that for anyone else).

Gigi was afraid she was about to lose all of that now. Lydia would back away from their newfound intimacy and try to reclaim their friendship, but it would be awkward and… just not the same. And Gigi wasn’t ready for that. Lydia’s eyes were beginning to flutter open setting off a sympathetic flutter of panic in Gigi’s stomach, and as Lydia’s eyes opened in earnest and focused on Gigi’s face, Gigi did the first desperate thing that came to her mind: she slid her hand along Lydia’s cheek and kissed her again, only registering in the middle of it that there might be morning breath to worry about.

But Lydia didn’t seem to care. She wrapped her arms tightly around Gigi and pulled her back so that Lydia lay on her back and Gigi was spread on top of her. Gigi’s left arm was free, and it began to burn and tingle as it raked through Lydia’s hair. But it was difficult to tell what was tingling more, her awakening left hand or her awakening lips… or perhaps her heart, awakening to a hope that just moments ago had seemed impossible—

The opening door and the sound of William’s voice intruded. “Gigi, I was thinking of making—”

Gigi hid her burning face in Lydia’s neck.

“…pancakes…”

“Hey, Darce!” Lydia said cheerily.

William cleared his throat. Gigi could just imagine him directing his words toward the carpet. “Good morning, Lydia,” he said in a quiet, polite, slightly strangled voice. “Would you like pancakes for breakfast?”

“Sounds great!” Lydia enthused.

William said nothing, but Gigi guessed that he had given a short nod before he left.

“Looks like he managed to get his kitty whiskers washed off,” Lydia joked once the door had clicked closed again.

Gigi groaned. “I think I just died.”

“Oh, come on, Darce was totally cool about it.”

Another groan.

Lydia laughed. “You Darcys are a matched set with the embarrassment and stuff.” She rubbed Gigi’s back. “Seriously, it’s not a big deal. We weren’t even naked or anything.”

Gigi burrowed her face deeper into the curve of Lydia’s neck. “Oh my God, I would have died.”

“I thought you were already dead.”

“I would be a special kind of dead. Like I would have died and come back to life just to die again.”

“Hey,” Lydia said, slipping a hand beneath Gigi’s chin and raising her head so they were face to face. “Calm down. It’s not the end of the world.”

Lydia’s eyes were concerned, but steady, and had a calming effect on her jangling nerves. “I know, I just… wasn’t prepared for him to know just yet…” Gigi sighed and pushed herself back into a sitting position. “I guess I should probably talk to him.”

Lydia sat up and gave Gigi a final, sound kiss. “Okay. Go talk you your brother.”

Gigi sighed and gave a resigned half smile. “I’ll do that,” she said, almost as much to herself as to Lydia. She climbed out of bed, threw on a bathrobe, and with a parting glance at Lydia (who grinned and shooed her away), walked out onto the balcony overlooking the first floor of the cabin.

The kitchen was not visible from here, located as it was behind and to the left of the staircase, but Gigi could hear William’s movements, and the occasional clanking of kitchen equipment. She descended the staircase and, when she reached the bottom, found William measuring out the dry ingredients for the pancakes.

Gigi decided not to broach the subject immediately. “Can I help with anything?” she asked.

William started and looked up at Gigi midway through leveling off a cup of flour with the flat of a knife. “Of course,” he said. “You could gather the wet ingredients.”

Gigi nodded. They had made pancakes together so many times, she didn’t even need to ask what she needed to get. They both had the recipe memorized. Going through the familiar motions calmed her, made William feel close, companionable, and accessible.

Maybe she could do this.

“I’m sorry about—” she stopped abruptly, frowning at the stick of butter, from which she was cutting three tablespoons. “Uhh…” She cleared her throat as she put the butter in a shallow bowl to stick in the microwave. “I’m sorry about what happened just now.”

“I should have knocked,” William said, by way of his own apology, the stiltedness in his voice revealing his discomfort. “I was unaware…” He didn’t finish the sentence. His eyes were trained on the dry ingredients he was mixing together, though Gigi was pretty sure they had been well enough mixed for the past minute at least.

“I really like her,” Gigi blurted.

“I figured as much.” William was trying for his customary dry wit, but his smirk wasn’t quite reaching his eyes.

“You don’t approve, do you?” Gigi didn’t so much ask this as state it with glum certainty as she measured in the milk.

She left the egg for William, because he had a way of cracking it against the mixing bowl that didn’t result in a goopy mess or pieces of shell in the batter. He did this in measured silence. The microwave beeped—the butter was done—but Gigi waited to hear what her brother had to say. “It’s not that I don’t  _approve_ , exactly,” he said at last. “I’m worried that you and she do not have the same expectations for the continuation of the relationship… or whether it should continue at all.”

Gigi felt this like a punch in the gut. All of the fears that had racked her brain as she watched Lydia sleep, fears that had been momentarily allayed after she awakened, came roaring back.

“The butter is done.” William’s words cut through the haze of Gigi’s anxiety. She nodded and popped open the microwave door, holding the hot ceramic bowl lightly with her fingertips, and tipping its contents into the mixing bowl.

As William mixed the batter together, Gigi turned on the griddle so that it would be hot enough by the time William was done mixing.

Left without occupation for a moment, her thoughts, of course, returned to Lydia. She knew that Lydia didn’t really do relationships. But last night, it had seemed like there was something serious in her eyes—a sort of yearning combined with bold resolution—had Gigi imagined it? It seemed unlikely that she could have. The memory of that look still took her breath away. But still, looking wasn’t telling.

“I… I don’t know what she wants,” she admitted in a soft, strained voice.

William approached her with the mixing bowl in his hands and a concerned expression on his face. He set the bowl on the table next to the griddle and placed a hand on her shoulder. “I think you should talk to her about it,” he said. Gigi nodded resignedly. “But first,” he continued, “you should help me cook these pancakes.”

William produced two spatulas (though William preferred the proper Latin plural,  _spatulae_ ) from a nearby drawer and presented one to her. She accepted it. William then poured perfect, even rows of homogeneously-sized pancakes on his side and Gigi poured a bunch of messy globs on her side, some of them overlapping with each other. William eyed these with exaggerated disdain as he always did.

“They’ll taste exactly the same,” Gigi countered, as she always did.

She’d worry about talking to Lydia later.


End file.
